Soli Deo gloria
DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Doctor Who.
This is a fanfic for Amanda, who requested a River/10 fanfic. It's of an inner commentary running through River's mind in Silence in the Library. Merry (belated!) Christmas, Amanda, and fellow Whovians!
* River's POV *
Look at you. So young. You don't recognize me, do you? You wouldn't. Of course not. You're too young. And that's saying something. You're nine-hundred-plus-years-old and don't look a day over forty. You got that tossy hair all ruffled, with those glasses that make you look so wickedly handsome. It should be illegal to be you, you know.
You scurry around this library, doing what you do best. Solving problems left and right. Investigating with your screwdriver (the look on your face when I pulled out the one you gave me was priceless. I should've gotten a picture of it to keep forever, if only for a moment) at the Vashta Nerada, being so terribly, terribly concerned with all my expedition's members, throwing lunch at monsters. You never stop amazing me, Doctor. The most dangerous man in the universe, the stopper of Daleks and Cybermen, who a girl named Clara would split herself into hundreds of puzzle pieces to protect—oh, I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I? Silly me—mustn't spoil his ending—and throwing chicken legs into the dark. Oh, you clever, clever man.
You're the cleverest man I ever met; you and I have worked hard against competing timelines to meet up at precious moments, moments I treasure forever. We've been through a lot, you and me. Hitler assassination attempts, my kidnapping, me . . . 'killing' you, the Silence, the Pandorica, and then my Doctor crying so much at the Singing Towers. Tell me, dear, why were you crying? You must know something I do not, and, going against my own personal code, I wish I can get a few answers out of you.
But you barely look at me, never mind talk to me. And when you look at me, your brown eyes get wide and a little crazed and you search my face for something, like something familiar. You're as familiar to me as a stranger, Sweetie, yet I know your every move beforehand. Haven't I memorized you? Yet you and I are strangers. We really are, Sweetie.
You're my immature Doctor. I've seen that panicky look in your eyes before, when you're older. You knew I'd be coming to my death. To save you.
Half of my life devoted to killing you, and the other half to save you. Isn't that sort of funny, Sweetie, how that all works?
I'm going to save you now, Sweetie, so that you will be able to become my Doctor, and be with me for those stolen moments.
Oh, so young. And so handsome I'm surprised half of my crew isn't swooning like suffering a blow to the head. So young, and stupid, and brilliant, and unknowing. I know so much, Sweetie. How can you not know?
You'll know. In a bit. And I hope, my Doctor, you will know that I did it because I love you, the man you are, and the man I know you to be.
Love, your River.
P.S. I won't say any more, Sweetie. Spoilers. ;)
Thanks for reading!
